


My dreams about you (And if you dreamt about it, too)

by toastede



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Angst, But It's Not Important To The Plot, Childhood Friends, First Kiss, Fluff and Angst, Friends to Lovers, Hurt/Comfort, I'm Going to Hell, If You Squint - Freeform, Implied Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M, Minor Character Death, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Pining, Resolved Sexual Tension, Sexual Tension, Sharing a Bed, Sleepy Bois Inc as Family, Tension, Texting, a lot of it, call me fucking shakespeare, damn the title rhymes, how is this 10k words long, im just getting the seggsy tags out of the way, kind of?, sapnap's the real hero here
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-23
Updated: 2021-02-23
Packaged: 2021-03-13 10:13:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,725
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29649771
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/toastede/pseuds/toastede
Summary: There are no fireworks, Dream concludes. There’s no spark or shooting star or flame, but there is a silent confession.There’s one AM, and there’s texts from George.George - 1:33 AMAre you up?
Relationships: Clay | Dream/GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF)
Comments: 31
Kudos: 109





	My dreams about you (And if you dreamt about it, too)

The first time Dream meets George, a spark is ignited. “There’s a certain someone, out there, just for you,” Dream remembers, and right now, staring into the stranger before him he figures this is what his sister had been talking to him about.

Here’s how it happens; Dream goes to a park that circles his street, accompanied by his mother. He pets a stray dog that subsequently runs off — Dream was the type — and he sits by the swings to build sandcastles and imagine infinite oceans beside them. Before him, a tall foreigner and his son stand with awkward smiles and unfitting clothes for the weather. The foreigner urges the son to talk to the blond kid by the swings, and they talk until they can’t talk anymore.

They share lingering laughs through an afternoon that will never fade, and they greet each other willingly, because somewhere in the confines of Florida an everlasting friendship had blossomed.

Somehow, that day, there’s something in the back of their brains that settles.

—

The second time Dream meets George, he brings along a friend. They meet by the same swing set (though, the color’s faded), and this time, they’re old enough to talk without parental supervision. Though it’s really not the second time — Dream and George have been friends since they were five — it’ll forever linger as the second prominent memory in Dream’s mind.

He meets Sapnap at middle school, a boy who fidgets with his pencils in the back of class and who, though friends with everyone, doesn’t seem interested in sitting with the popular kids. A boy who gifts Dream a video game for his birthday, even if his mom had recommended clothes.

The sun skips behind them, and an onlooker would merely see silhouettes of three foolish kids who still can’t tell right from wrong. An onlooker would see a group of childhood friends that would drift, but an onlooker isn’t them.

They each sit on a swing, red, green, and blue, and George mentions how he can’t tell the difference between two of them. They each sit on a swing and watch light drain from the sky. Laughter lines begin to form on their cheeks.

That night, Dream comes home and his mom scolds him for staying out so late. That night isn’t the only night it happens.

—

They’re friends. They do become friends, and unbeknownst to them, they’ve signed up for years collateral damage.

There’s wet cement near the entrance of Dream’s house, circled by caution tape that urges them to do the exact opposite of what they’re planning. George points it out as he sees a dog’s paws marking it, and Dream laughs because Dream’s never had the opportunity. 

George convinces Dream to mark his hand down, and he obliges. And so it sits, through a night of settlement, a testimony of time that’ll stay for as long as they shall imagine it.

—

The first time Dream sees George cry, it’s selfish.

It’s a late night, nearing three, Dream’s headspace gradually falling subject to sleep before a ding forces his senses awake. He would’ve ignored it if it’d been anyone else, but how could Dream ever ignore George?

_**George - 2:49 AM  
Dream** _

Dream unlocks his phone A scoff forms beneath his throat before it catches.

_**George is typing…** _

Then he stops, and begins again, and stops, and it’s about time Dream gets worried.

_**Dream - 2:51 AM  
U okay?** _

Dream’s thumbs linger on his keyboard before George’s message comes through.

_**George - 2:51 AM  
I’m at your door** _

Dream halts. _I’m at your door_ , the words echo in his brain despite his better knowledge. He rubs his face, gets up from the warmth of the sheets and puts on a grey hoodie. And he leaves his phone on his bedside table.

He tip toes around the house, making sure to avoid the creaking floor boards he’d learnt to memorize and psyching himself up to see George at his doorstep, even if they’d repeated this routine more times than he could count. And he lingers, hand on the doorknob for too unhealthy of a time before he feels bad for making his friend stand around.

He opens the door, and before he can acknowledge the lukewarm Florida air hitting his face, George’s standing there with a look much different from whatever Dream expected.

He’s perplexed. His phone is shaking beneath his grip and his eyes are void of any noticeable emotion. He’s still wearing pyjamas, — though they’re really just old clothes he doesn’t use anymore, as he’d mentioned to Dream one night —, a long sleeved black tee and pants that hang way past his angles. Dream doesn’t know what to say. 

So he doesn’t say anything, because this is how it goes with them. He opens his door wider and George walks in, Dream shutting it behind him. George follows him to his bedroom, and the blond doesn’t ask any questions.

He makes space for George on his bed, and the only sound to be heard is the shuffling of sheets as they settle down to comfortable silence, each at an opposing extreme of the mattress. Dream still has his speakers playing on the lowest setting, tunes of dread patrolling their every move as the tension lingers. 

And they lay parallel to the ceiling, even if Dream’s eyes are stinging with sleep. The blues set a nice background image behind the blond’s eyelids, and he imagines a better place, a better time.

But George talks, “My dad’s sick.”

The walls seems to quiver as his words echo, and some selfish side of Dream wants to cross boundaries and hold George tight to his chest.

But he shushes that thought before it even surfaces, and he turns his head to look at the edge of George’s jaw. Knowing he won’t look back.

“Did—, Did you just find out?”

“They’ve kept it from me. I found the papers.”

“George—…”

But the shorter shakes his head, almost ironically, before a dry chuckle leaves his throat. “You know, I don’t trust my mum with a lot, but I’d at least fucking expect she’d tell me if my bloody father’s gonna die.” 

He only meets the other’s eyes for fractions of a second, but Dream can see the betrayal. “And the thing is? He’s not better off either, couldn’t even look me in the eye.”

This time, Dream can’t say it’ll be okay.

“I’ll miss the bastard, though.” Their eyes lock.

Dream holds the weight of the world on his gaze, and George’s holds a dam.

And when George sits up and that dam bursts with his face on his hands, Dream is there to stop the cities from flooding.

—

The third time Dream meets George, it’s at his very first party. His mother had joked with him, long ago, when he was on the edge of current remembrance and when he was too young to even comprehend what she was saying, that one day, he’d _be_ the popular kid. Dream doesn’t believe her.

Sapnap urges him on, weeks before it even happens, and he says it’ll be legendary. He says it’ll bring them to utmost social hierarchy, and Dream believes him.

They’re fifteen. They’re fifteen and Dream’s holding an ice-cold bowl of punch, because that’s what he thinks people serve at parties. Sapnap’s mindlessly scrolling through his phone, workload excused by what he considered to be an above average music taste. Dream lets him, because Dream’s like that.

George’s helping Dream with the food, telling him there’s no point of trying to stay legal because people will bring alcohol, anyway. Dream shuts him up before he can further his point, perking a flirty remark that inevitably throws George off, as per tradition. And Sapnap chuckles in the background, because somehow he’d always known.

A few hours later and the party’s gone way further than fruit punch. A few hours later and Dream, mind fizzy with laughter and people he’s yet to recognize, notices George sitting with a distant look on his face, crosslegged by the sidelines. And it’s a few hours later when Dream sits beside him.

“What’s wrong?” He asks, breathless.

So George scowls, “I told you I didn’t wanna be here.”

It’s the stark comparison, it’s the flushed, drunken cheeks that compare with pale ones and it’s the color he can bring to them. It’s start of change.

Dream sets an arm around his friend’s shoulder. “Brighten up, Geo—“ He hiccups mid-sentence. And he considers it for a moment before speaking, but this is also the first time Dream’s gotten drunk. Perhaps his subconscious was pushing daggers through his heart all along. “Dance with me.”

The Brit shakes his head then cranes his neck to the opposing side (if it were for the flattery, he wouldn’t admit it), muttering, “No one even likes that I’m friends with you.”

Dream stays silent for a drifting moment, mind spinning, before he rests his forehead against George’s shoulder, and decides, “So let them.”

So maybe it’s the desire to say ‘fuck it’, maybe it’s the blaring lights and the contrasting sobriety, but George gives in to Dream’s warmth.

Grips aren’t steady, breaths are shared midst the chaos of a room and uncharacteristic music pumps their undying desire, but they don’t let it go past that. Beneath both their thick, thick skulls forms a layer of sympathy, a layer of infatuation with density stronger than any of them could ever deal with and that goes uncovered for long as they shall stand right here, hand in hand.

And if either of them noticed anything crossing the line of ‘just friends’ that night, their lips were ever sealed.

—

No one’s ever expecting it. How could they? It’s not something to think about.

But still, it happens. And when it does for them, specifically, it’s when Dream wakes up with his mother by the bed. With a murmur she requests of him to be strong, and she leads him down to the living room where George has come over because, of course (how could Dream let it cross his mind?), in due time, his father’s passed away.

Dream’s heart breaks for him when he realizes, and it’s simple. Death, he realizes, is simple. It’s something that happens once, mercilessly, and yet something one’s meant to deal with all at once. There’s nothing preparing George for death, and there’s nothing preparing Dream for holding the weight of it, either. Death is irreversible.

He holds his friend as he weeps, and Dream knows he does, because he can feel it, too, deep within his very soul. Sapnap doesn’t ask for his parent’s approval when he hears, he grabs his bike and he pedals like the world is ending. And when he appears with a reddened face and a welcoming hug, the best of friends sit in an unbearably grim living room that would hold the root of them, hours upon hours.

—

When Dream and George’s first argument comes to be, he doesn’t know how to cope with it. It’s also the third time he sees George cry, but he won’t refer to it as that. 

It’s complicated. Dream never had the real incentive to fix things with anyone nor did he have the words for it. So he only hoped George would hear his silent plea to forgive him.

It’s way too quick, but maybe that’s because of the blurred lines of Dream’s mind. They’re nearing the last month of sophomore year when it happens.

He’s talking with a girl he can’t remember the name of, a lopsided smile on his face and a sudden interest for why he’s getting so much attention. Maybe it’s his insufferable charisma, as Sapnap had put it. Maybe the others had noticed.

She’s mentioning something about math class, though he can’t specifically hear what. He hopes she forgives him, too, though it’s clearly not time for Dream to confess his sins.

He’s talking with a girl he can’t remember the name of when Sapnap comes sprinting down the hallway, face red from exertion and a less-than content look.

Dream can barely act confused before his friend starts spitting out of breath sentences containing the words ‘George’ and ‘important’ in it, and then Dream’s being pulled down the hallways of a high school he didn’t care for with a dumbfounded furrow in his brow.

And when he gets behind the bleachers, his eyes are no longer nonchalant and he rips Sapnap’s desperate grasp off his forearm.

So he crouches beside him, “George, George, George—“ Dream can’t see the brunet’s face when it buries on his knees, but he knows something’s wrong from the way his shoulders shake.

He mutters something incomprehensible, and the blond turns his gaze back to Sapnap with a silent question.

But Sapnap can barely speak, either, and he leans with his arm on the brick walls of the gym before he can collapse from fatigue. And Dream finally notices the scrape on his palms.

“George— What? What is it? What happened?” Dream speaks like word vomit, and his impulsive nature sheds light.

But George suddenly lashes out with tear stained cheeks, and it’s the last thing Dream expects, “You’re a fucking prick, Dream, you know that?” He glares at him, and Dream can feel a gleam dim at the depths of his heart.

“Wha—“

“You told them! You told them you didn’t go because of me, and— and now they all fucking hate me.”

Something crashes in Dream’s mind like thunder, and he remembers exactly what George is blaming him for.

It had been one of those nights, one of those nights when George needed Dream and Dream simply couldn’t say no. So what if the next day he’d missed a football game to be there for his best friend? All this blame, and Dream still doesn’t understand why his absence matters.

“Don’t listen to them, alright?” He tries, but it backfires.

“That’s not even the fucking problem, Dream!” George hesitates. “It’s— It’s the fact that you’d _tell_ them, _use_ me as some pathetic excuse when not even Sapnap knew!”

Dream’s ears are ringing.

“No— You know what? Maybe it is the problem, because now these entire fucking two years will be _hell_. Because all these— The entire fucking football team doesn’t like me, so that means no one else will wanna talk to me, either. But you don’t get that, do you, because you’re just turning _into_ them.”

A beat. “You’re overreacting,” Dream can practically hear Sapnap hiss at his choice of words.

“Don’t you fucking dare.” George snarls. “I trust you for so many years, I trust you to _at least_ have the fucking decency to keep my issues to yourself, and you can’t even do that.”

But he’s desperate, “I didn’t tell them anything, George. I told them I had to be with you and that’s it.”

“Yeah, and you made it sound like this giant _inconvenience_ — People think I’m suicidal,” He scoffs. “You know that? They think you can’t leave me for a fucking _second_ or I’ll off myself.”

“Does it matter? What they think?” It’s soft, his tone, but George is having none of it.

“It matters to _you_ ,” Between his words is malice.

“…What does that mean?” Dream’s voice holds more hurt than aggression.

George scoffs, “It’s fucking futile, Dream. You remember when we used to make fun of them? How they were so full of themselves? How their friendships only thrived on talking shit about other people?” He lets his arms hang around his legs, almost defensively. “I remember. You’d say they were arrogant. Selfish, backstabbing assholes.”

Dream doesn’t want to hear it. He doesn’t.

But George continues anyway, because he’s _cruel like that_ , Dream decides. 

“Sound familiar?”

He almost convinces himself to blur the words out before they can hit him. But his temper strikes faster than his reasoning. “You don’t mean that.”

“Why not, Dream?” George tests his patience. “Why not, huh? Do you think otherwise?”

Dream wants Sapnap to shush George, wants him to stop talking, he wants it to _stop_. It doesn’t happen.

“George,” He warns.

“No, it’s fine. It’s fucking _fine_! I know you can’t handle it, can you? You can’t fucking handle it.”

If it were anyone but George, Dream would’ve punched them in the face. He knows, if it were _anyone_ else standing in front of him right now, they wouldn’t stand to see the end of it. But he only feels dread.

“Let me ask you a question, Dream,” Dream listens. “if we hadn’t met that day, if we hadn’t become friends, would you see me, now, as a stranger, and think I’m fucking— that I’m _worthy_ of your attention?”

He wants to say yes, of course he wants to say yes, but he’s stopped by his own presence. Because if he looks, really, really looks, Dream’s grown up to be the opposite of George.

He can’t speak. Dream looks at George with forlorn eyes and prays this isn’t the end of them.

“Just leave me alone,” George’s voice shakes, and it’s almost like it is.

—

George doesn’t come around at dawn anymore. Dream spends summer without him, and his mom asks how George is doing. Why George doesn’t come by anymore. If George and him had a fall out, but he blocks it out. Because he’s a hormonal teenager, yes, but also because he doesn’t want it to be real.

Sapnap calls occasionally. He’s torn, wants his friend group to reconcile and wants Dream to stop acting like the jock he clearly isn’t, but it doesn’t work.

Dream spends his birthday without George for the first time he can remember, and something in him obviously isn’t functioning properly anymore, because it’s never felt this foreign. He merely wants to feel normal again, but of course, normal is a broad term.

He doesn’t get a surprise party where they’re back to being them. He doesn’t get balloons and party favors. He gets to pick his favorite songs to play, sure, but his whole life Sapnap had the privilege.

Dream gets a car for his seventeenth birthday. He’d trade it for forgiveness.

—

A week before he’s a junior, Dream befriends Wilbur, an upperclassman with an affinity for music and a less than fitting group of friends. An upperclassman who talks to the blond when he’s drunk off his ass at some random kid’s house.

“You alright there?” He speaks, and the British accent throws Dream off.

He sighs, “You can say so.”

Wilbur’s unbelieving. “You’re from a different school?”

Dream scrunches his nose, “No. Soon to be Junior.”

“Really,” He stops. “that’s surprising.”

“What?”

“Well, for starters, you shouldn’t be this hammered at seventeen.”

Dream snorts. “I’m just _craving_ the middle-aged life style.”

Wilbur laughs. “Where’s your group?” 

And alas, it stings. “I’m here alone.”

Wilbur pats his back. “Come on, we’re adopting you.”

So that’s how Dream ends up in this situation, having the first genuine laugh he’s held in months and somehow agreeing to flirt with a random girl across the room because a loud freshman who goes by Tommy told him his game was weak. And maybe it was, because he comes back with a mortified look on his face further accentuated by intoxication.

He watches as Wilbur knocks the solo cup off of Tommy’s hand before he can bring it up to his mouth, because “You know Phil would kill you.”

When the night comes to end, Wilbur drives Dream home. And he finds himself smiling, because maybe it takes effort to learn things are replaceable.

—

On George and Sapnap’s side, there isn’t normalcy. There’s tension, and a lot of it, but there isn’t normalcy.

They see Dream on the staircase with Wilbur and his friends, but they don’t look for too long. When Sapnap joins the football team, he doesn’t say it’s because he wants to get Dream to listen. George says he goes to the games because Sapnap makes him, but he never asked. It’s void between friendship and closure.

There are times when it gets hard, yes, because George doesn’t have Dream anymore. He holds an end of himself locked on a motive that doesn’t suffice him. He’s spoiled by Dream’s hold, dependent, but he learns how to live because he has to.

They pass by the park one day, and the city’s asleep, so why not? And it’s when they fall into chatter, behind an after-school sunset that Sapnap accidentally refers to Dream when he isn’t there.

They decide it’s time to stop.

—

Sapnap calls Dream one night.

He knows because it’s Sapnap’s face that shows up on his screen, taken from an afternoon that now seems so far from where he is and in a place of joy. He blinks, considers it, and picks up.

He puts the phone to his ear and waits for the other to speak first.

“Dream,” He greets, and it’s dry.

Dream is silent.

“I’m with George.”

Something churns in his stomach, but he speaks. “Hi.”

He can hear hushed whispers on the other side of the call. Sapnap mutes himself. There’s a moment when Dream is left with his own dangerous conscience, and then George’s voice filters through the speakers.

“We’re at the park. Can you come?”

Dream sputters on his words, “Sure, okay.”

And when no one else speaks, he does, “I’ll be there in five.”

There’s a nostalgic sense, he realizes, to hurriedly tying his worn chucks in the middle of the night, just before it’s too late, and pulling a random hoodie on to meet with his best friends (Could he call them that anymore?). It’s lurking, an ever orbiting presence that lingers beside Dream in every passing moment of his life, because he’d spent it, in its entirety, with these people, and a few months without that made him feel less of himself.

When he gets there, it’s cold. It’s rare for a Floridian night to be cold, but it’s the middle of autumn, so he supposes it’s less peculiar. He sees silhouettes enveloped by street lamps, and he sees the unoccupied swing beside them. Something in him shatters. Realization, perhaps, but maybe this would fix it.

He knows they can see him coming, and maybe that’s why it’s awkward. Sure, that, not the weeks of neglected communication and the heavy feeling in his gut.

When neither of them say anything, he sits on the swing, because there’s nothing better he can do. It’s almost normal.

Sapnap’s voice doesn’t let it, “We miss you.”

And Dream smiles, but they can’t see him. “Me too.” He kicks his feet on the sand. “A lot.”

“You’re friends with Wilbur now.” George perks, but he looks at Dream. And maybe he’s changed in the couple months they’ve been off each other, but Dream can’t tell.

“You know him?”

“Who doesn’t?”

The taller thinks, he really does, but there’s nothing he can say. Dream’s forgotten how to speak to George.

Rickety chains grit above him, and he doesn’t think it’s a good idea to be there anymore.

“It’s not the same.” He admits. “Can I apologize? Would that be repetitive?”

George lets out a breathy laugh. “You’re still the same.”

“I have to be.” Dream doesn’t hesitate, and there are no suns to set behind them.

“Okay, god, since you won’t say it,” Sapnap huffs, “George wants to give us a second chance. The three of us.” And it’s all Dream ever wanted.

He leans his head on the chains, and the blown out void of his heart sees new light. 

—

They’re early to fourth period when it happens. Sapnap’s off, because somehow he’d managed to completely break an already rocking desk he was dared to stand on — Dream warned him it was a stupid idea — and he doesn’t want to get detention for it. They’re early to AP Literature, a class Dream convinced his friends to join, when something akin to a violent current mixes in Dream’s mind.

They’re messing around, Dream telling George he can perfectly balance a pen on the tip of his nose and George certainly doubting his intentions. So Dream borrows a pen from George’s backpack, and he challenges, “You owe me five dollars if I balance it,”

George chuckles, “No.”

“Yes.” Dream sits on a desk. “C’mon, five dollars or nothing.”

“That’s not how it works.” 

“It is now, Georgie-poo—“

George shoves his shoulder. “I don’t wanna hear it.”

Dream rolls his eyes. “Okay, fine, if I do it for twenty seconds you owe me ten dollars.”

“Why is it _more_ expensive now?”

“Because you’re taking too long— Okay,” Dream prepares himself. “No take backs now.”

George sighs, and Dream tips his head back. The brunet watches as his hands methodically bring the pen, albeit horizontally, to his nose, breath visibly hitching.

And it balances, because of course it balances.

George groans, “That isn’t even that hard, it’s not worth ten dollars.”

Dream laughs, and the pen slightly rocks above him. “You agreed to it,”

“No I di-“

“My neck hurts, here, I’ll pass it over to your nose. We’ll see how difficult it is.” Dream interrupts.

And George has given up at this point, “ _Why_?” 

“ _Because_ ,” Dream counters, and George begrudgingly agrees.

“Okay, hold on, come closer.” Dream blindly reaches out to George’s shoulders, pulling him closer. “You have to stay still, okay?”

George laughs. “Why are we doing this?”

“I don’t know, it’ll test your skill, come on,” He urges further, a chuckle between his words. “Okay. Tilt your head up.”

George doesn’t. “What? Why don’t you just grab it like a normal person?”

Dream wheezes. “I said I’d pass it over, you’re boring.”

“Ugh, okay, fine.” George cranes his neck, and he wonders how stupid they must look right now.

Dream doesn’t say anything, so George doesn’t either. The taller hums in consideration above him before, suddenly, hands are moving from George’s shoulders to cup his jaw, “What are you doing?” George asks, quiet, but doesn’t get an answer. 

Dream’s grip tightens, he jerks his head down to catch the pen between both their noses, and _holy fuck_ are they close. George shivers, and he’s sure Dream feels it.

“Bingo,” Dream concludes, hums, but he doesn’t move away. George feels the breath on his lips, and he matches it with his.

He thinks if he were to talk, their lips would graze. If he moved, they would crash. If he tried, they would connect.

Dream hasn’t noticed the gravity of the situation. He doesn’t notice it until he’s, quite literally, nose to nose with his best friend and there’s nothing left between that or more. There were words. There were sleep deprived nights and there were deep conversations, but there’s nothing anymore.

Dream holds years’ weight on his fingertips.

George sees Dream’s entire complexion go red, and then he’s being pushed away.

The pen falls to the ground and it’s like the sound echoes on its wake, it reverberates infinite times in their heads.

George’s vision is hazy, he feels almost dizzy, but he can see Dream bow his head and cover his face with both his hands.

They both want to run, that much is clear, but to where?

George doesn’t notice his uneven breathing until it’s over, and he has to cough something out to alleviate the paranoia.

It’s over.

Or better yet, _it_ didn’t even happen.

And Dream covers his face, but his ears are red. George would find it cute if it weren’t suffocating.

And— And then—… Sapnap bursts in, hero he is.

Heaving, “That,” he continues. “was not fun.”

George agrees on different context, but he can’t bring himself to humor his friend.

“It looks like the fucking apocalypse in here, what’s going on?” He slumps on a seat to the left of George.

He can’t answer, so Dream does it for him. “George owes me ten dollars.”

—

There _are_ no fireworks, Dream concludes. There’s no spark or shooting star or flame, but there is a silent confession.

There’s one AM, and there’s texts from George.

_**George - 1:33 AM  
Are you up?** _

He remembers a time when a text from George would mean he’s waiting for Dream at the door, but that time has long gone.

_**Dream - 1:34 AM  
Is that even a question** _

Dream lets his phone rest on his chest, the low hum of his speakers casting a nice ambiance of classical music to his late night rendezvous. Nearly closes his eyes before he hears a ding.

_**George - 1:36 AM  
I can’t sleep** _

His brows furrow, of course, because it’s George, and Dream has a thing for George.

_**Dream - 1:36 AM  
What’s up** _

_**George is typing…** _

He lets it rest, watching as a cloud moves from the moon’s face and light flows onto his walls. Walls decked with football medals, pictures of his family, pictures of his friends. Pictures of him, George, Sapnap, frames that he’d never taken down. 

Minutes pass. George is still typing, stopping, typing, stopping.

_**Dream - 1:39 AM  
DUDE seriously what’s wrong you’ve been trying for like 5 minutes** _

George stops, completely. Time passes. Dream’s mind wanders.

_**George - 1:41 AM  
Maybe your dick is too small** _

He stifles a laugh.

_**Dream - 1:41 AM  
What the fuck is wrong with you** _

_**George - 1:41 AM  
:)** _

_**Dream - 1:42 AM  
I despise you never associate with me again** _

Dream looks up at his ceiling, glow in the dark stars he’d glued as a child blooming despite the moonlight.

He rests his phone face down on his chest. Wonders if the thing for George is something else.

_**George - 1:43 AM  
Wyd** _

Dream rolls his eyes. Temptation stirs.

_**Dream - 1:43 AM  
You** _

A response doesn’t come immediately.

_**George - 1:43 AM  
Idiot** _

_**Dream - 1:43 AM  
‘Wyd’ what do you expect me to be doing it’s 1 in the morning** _

George types slower than usual, and Dream can picture crimson on his friend’s face.

_**George - 1:44 AM  
I expect you not to sext me** _

_**Dream - 1:44 AM  
If you think that’s what sexting looks like you haven’t seen the real me** _

_**George - 1:44 AM  
I’m ending this conversation now bye** _

Dream contemplates sending a heart before he receives another message.

_**George - 1:45 AM  
Okay I’m kidding** _

_**Dream - 1:45 AM  
Crawling back are we** _

_**George - 1:45 AM  
Sing me to sleep or something I don’t know be useful** _

Dream scoffs, and maybe he considers the possibility. A restless night, George’s back to his chest, fingers brushing through hair—

_**Dream - 1:46 AM  
What do u want me to do I can’t help your unhealthy sleep habits from streets away** _

_**George - 1:46 AM  
Dreammmmmmmmmm** _

Dream stills his teasing. For the moment.

_**Dream - 1:46 AM  
Okay fine** _

_**What do you want me to do** _

_**George - 1:46 AM  
I don’t knowwwwww** _

_**Dream - 1:47 AM  
Well I can’t do all the work you have to supply me with something here** _

_**George - 1:47 AM  
Dreammmmmmmmmmmmmm** _

_**Dream - 1:47  
Georgeeeeeee** _

And George is hesitant. Again. Dream knows he’s not doing this on purpose, he knows George can tell he’s noticing. But he decides to say nothing about it.

_**George - 1:49 AM  
It’s embarrassing** _

Dream hasn’t noticed the fond smile on his face.

_**Dream - 1:49 AM  
You can tell me <3** _

_**George - 1:49 AM  
Stoppppp** _

_**Dream - 1:49 AM  
I’m serious George** _

_**You can tell me** _

He ponders on it.

_**Dream - 1:50 AM  
Anything** _

George still hesitates, but it’s easier this time.

_**George - 1:50 AM  
I haven’t gone over to yours in so long** _

_**It makes me realize** _

_**Like** _

He’s typing, typing, typing. Dream’s expression is unreadable.

_**George - 1:51 AM  
I dunno** _

_**It’s dumb** _

But he knows it’s gone too far, and if George decided not to elaborate Dream wouldn’t control the thoughts that plagued his mind.

_**Dream - 1:51 AM  
It’s not** _

_**Tell me** _

_**George is typing…** _

Dream sighs, and it’s more shaky than not.

_**George - 1:52 AM  
I miss it** _

_**Having someone there** _

He closes his eyes, hard, and barely misses it.

_**George - 1:52 AM  
You** _

_**There** _

Dream’s suddenly made aware of the rapid heart beat in his ears. His vision blurs momentarily.

_**Dream - 1:52 AM  
You do?** _

_**George - 1:52 AM  
Is that a bad thing?** _

And he doesn’t have an answer.

_**Dream - 1:53 AM  
Come over** _

_**George is typing…** _

He’s scared of what’ll happen if George obliges. He’s more scared of what’ll happen if he doesn’t.

_**George - 1:53 AM  
I can’t even laugh at that** _

Breath catches.

_**Dream - 1:53 AM  
George** _

And it’s cryptic, but George understands.

_**George - 1:54 AM  
It’s not worth it** _

_**Dream - 1:54 AM  
Why not?** _

_**George - 1:54 AM  
Don’t pry, Dream** _

His finger lurks above the call button. He doesn’t press it.

_**Dream - 1:55 AM  
Why are you doing this then** _

_**George - 1:55 AM  
I’m not doing anything** _

_**Dream - 1:55 AM  
George** _

_**George - 1:55 AM  
How the fuck am I gonna sleep now** _

Dream is terrified. Petrified. He’s in over his head, in over his head, in over hi—

_**George - 1:56 AM  
I wanna be next to you** _

His ears drown out the piano. Gears shift like clockwork.

_**Dream - 1:56 AM  
Yeah?** _

_**George - 1:56 AM  
Yeah** _

_**I’ve thought about it** _

Dream wants to throw his phone. He thinks he could.

_**Dream - 1:56 AM  
Don’t** _

_**George - 1:56 AM  
Why not?** _

_**Dream 1:56 AM  
It’s not worth it** _

He needs a break.

_**George - 1:57 AM  
Yeah** _

He needs a break.

_**Dream - 1:57 AM  
I’ve** _

_He needs a break._

_**Dream - 1:57 AM  
I’ve thought about it as well** _

But there’s no halting now, is there?

_**George - 1:57 AM  
You have?** _

It’s a constant, brutal battle against Dream’s better interest.

_**Dream - 1:57 AM  
All the time** _

He’s losing.

_**George - 1:58 AM  
Is this what ruins us** _

He’s losing, bad.

_**Dream - 1:58 AM  
If we let it** _

Bloodshed, bloodshed, _bloodshed_.

_**George - 1:58 AM  
I don’t want it to** _

His playlist’s ran out.

_**Dream - 1:58 AM  
We can forget about it** _

Dream doesn’t want to.

_**George - 1:59 AM  
No we can’t** _

_**Dream - 1:59 AM  
We can pretend** _

He said too much. Too much. Too much.

_**George - 1:59 AM  
I don’t want to** _

Too,

_**Dream - 2:00 AM  
It’s late, George** _

_much_.

_**Dream - 2:00 AM  
Go to bed, yeah?** _

—

But they do pretend. And they pretend well, because shoot Dream if George isn’t calculating his every move. They’re careful, reserved, and they know. Sapnap knows, too, because he’s always known, but he decides this time isn’t funny.

They spend a year pretending. That year goes easy, or Dream tells himself it does, but he ignores the heavy texts he gets from George and he ignores the ache on his fingertips and he ignores the way he reaches for his friend (?) when he isn’t there. He ignores the one night stands he wished felt a little more like home and he ignores the way he imagines, because _god_ does he imagine.

But it’s a late night, because it always is, and Dream gets a text from George.

_**George - 1:29 AM  
I’m at your door** _

Dream has to hold himself accountable, he thinks, because there’s no way George wants the same way he does. Because he wants lips, he wants warmth, he wants _more_ , and George wants away from it.

But right now, George wants in, and Dream is being _selfish_.

It’s just like any other night, if any other night meant he couldn’t see George as his best friend anymore.

And he thinks it’s normal. He think’s he’s built this pyramid perfectly, walked up its slope unbothered by gravity and maybe he could’ve brought boulders on his back. He walks George to his room, and he _still_ thinks it’s normal.

But all the cards fall, because George runs him into an embrace so strong Dream hits his bed. He realizes the boulders have been with him far too long.

George’s forehead buries in Dream’s neck, and he feels the urgency. He smells chamomile and he feels strong, because he feels _everything_.

He cradles George the best he can, and he whispers reassurances.

“What’s wrong?”

George shakes his head against Dream. Dream doesn’t allow himself to think about it before he presses his lips to brown hair.

And maybe that’s where he went wrong, because George looks at him with his pupils blown wide. Moonlight phases through the window.

George’s hand, thereafter, is holding Dream’s jaw. So Dream falters, because he knows.

“We can’t, George.” He’s shaky.

And it’s almost like he’s made to move Dream, because “Why not?”

“I—…” And he doesn’t have an answer. His mind yells ’No!’ in the background.

Dream’s face burns, hot, where George touches it. And he wants, he wants so much, but knows he can’t have it.

“And if I still did it?” He studies Dream’s face like a prayer.

He breathes, “I would let you.”

Dream would imagine thunder crashing right about now.

Alas, somewhere in the confines of Florida, two best friends have kissed for the first time. And maybe they do cross the line of ‘just friends’, because kissing isn’t all they do that night. There’s nothing past their minds to prove it.

—

Dream decides to take an off year, focus on things he’s neglected in the past. Tommy tells him Wilbur would be proud if he knew, though Dream doesn’t know how much he can trust Tommy, even if he’s not a freshman anymore. He remembers Wilbur graduating, telling him he’d make it big one day and Dream would be there to see it. Dream believes him.

Sapnap gets accepted at university somewhere in Texas, because he’s always wanted to go back, and Dream expresses his pride.

George—, Dream doesn’t think about George anymore. Or maybe it’s because George doesn’t tell him. His ego prefers the former.

He tells Sapnap about the night it happened, and Sapnap seems awfully non-chalant. Clearly, painfully so, he’d always known.

It’s when they’re sitting against the blue wall of his room, Dream with his legs to his chest, that it all comes back.

There are boxes everywhere. Sapnap is going away, and so is George. Dream hasn’t seen George’s boxes yet, but he knows it’d be lackluster.

“Crazy, huh?” His friend tuts from beside him after a great while of silence Dream didn’t think would be filled.

_So many people, so many memories._

“I know,”

_A million things left unsaid._

“Do you think you’ll ever come back?”

_Yearning, wanting, losing._

Sapnap shakes his head, “No.”

—

But there’s one last party. Dream doesn’t see George packing or bids his proper goodbyes, but there’s one last party. New year’s, right before the people he’s known his whole life leave. Maybe it’s time for genuine redemption.

Sapnap doesn’t have time to be lazy because George isn’t there to help Dream with the food, and it doesn’t help that they’re on that topic again. Dream slightly regrets telling Sapnap about his heartache, but maybe it’s because he doesn’t want to fix it.

“Seriously though,” Sapnap dumps out a bag of ice. “do something about it.”

Dream huffs, passing him the next one. “How do even you go back from that? Hooking up with your best friend?”

Sapnap scoffs, “People do that all the time, you’re just queasy because it’s _George_.”

“What’s wrong with George?” Dream relents, opening another bag with scissors. _How much ice did Sapnap even buy?_

“‘What’s wrong with George?’” Sapnap mocks with a high-pitched tone. “You’ve been in love with him since, like, kindergarden.”

Dream flushes, “No I have not,”

“Yes, you have!” Sapnap accuses him. “Remember when you used to get him these— What even were they?”

Dream cringes, “Don’t say it.”

“These, like,” Sapnap chuckles. “fuckin’ flowers? They grew on the side of the street—“

“ _Sapnap_ ,”

“And, and— One day, you got him these—“ He has to stop himself to laugh. “These, like, orange ones— And he got a _massive_ allergic reaction—“

Memories fleet through his brain, but he stops them.

“Sapnap! No. We are not talking about this.” But his friend’s already hunched over with laughter.

Dream rolls his eyes, he knows he’s right.

Sapnap has coughed back his breath. “But, anyway. Listen to me.” He turns to face Dream, hands on his shoulders, and now things seem serious. “You do this now or regret it for the rest of your life.”

—

The ground is shaking. The walls are shaking, Dream’s shaking— He would’ve thought someone spiked his drink if it weren’t circumstantial.

 _Do something about it_ , he reminds himself, and it’s almost like he can’t. It’s almost like years of tension have brought him a physical barrier that needs fixing, fixing, _fixing_.

Maybe it’s always been Dream and George. Maybe it’d begun with swing sets and paw printed cement and ended with less appropriate things, but maybe _they’ve_ remained constant. Dream blinks, and he thinks he can see the blaring lights even after they aren’t there.

He unlocks his phone, the reality of December 31st running his conscience over. 

It’s over.

If this were a story, _this_ would be the final act, this would be what people remember it by, this would be _redemption_.

Dream realizes he holds the power of years leading up to this moment, and Sapnap’s words echo in his brain, because he _will_ regret this for the rest of his life.

He sees George across the room. He sees a boy who was once sitting right where he is, away from the party, but is now in it. He sees change, he sees _testimony of time_.

Right now, he doesn’t see infinite wit weaving through his opportunities. He doesn’t see a future where reality could ever reach his imagination, he doesn’t see a life with George in it. He doesn’t see potential, he sees a blond kid by the swings who hadn’t reached it.

 _This would be a good time to rewind_ , Dream thinks, but it’s not enough.

He goes through the backbone of his presence, goes through the files he’d exhausted, only when it’s late at night, that tell him he could’ve done something _different_. He goes through the backbone of his brain and imagines a different life where, if he could’ve been just a little more reckless, he could’ve _done it_.

He sees a life where he could be close to George in a ‘more than friends’ way. But he only sees it, because his imagination is vivid.

He curses his past for doing this to him. He wants out.

If it begins with George, it ends with him. With them. So Dream stands.

It feels like nostalgia. It feels like sitting by the swings and watching the sunset. It feels like _home_ , but he doesn’t know if this is home anymore.

“George—” He calls, gazes lock.

George is silent, and under the rainbow hues, Dream thinks it’s nothing but evil.

 _Do something about it_ , it echoes in Dream like an anthem.

“I’m—“ He begins, and George looks at him with unknown eyes.

“I’m sorry.” _For ruining us_ , it remains unspoken.

George smiles, “Come here.” It’s an ending.

Dream does, and George takes his hand. It’s almost like he can pretend they’re still fifteen. It’s like he can pretend things are redeemable.

So he spits it out, when they’re chest to chest in a party that’ll never fade, “I love you.” And he wishes it were different.

They’re a constant, everyone beside them is in slow motion. They’re looking _in_ each other, and Dream thinks he could cry.

“We’re idiots, aren’t we?” George speaks, and fooling as it is, _it’s still an ending_ , Dream reminds himself.

“Yeah,” Dream chuckles, and it’s dreary. “we are.”

“Hey,” George tilts his gaze down, interlocking their fingers. “This isn’t over, alright?” He looks at Dream. “It’s not.”

_It is._

“George,” Something in Dream warns him, but he crushes it down because it’s too late now. “You’re leaving.” 

And it’s like neither of them believes it.

“I know,” George mourns. “It’s unfair.”

“It’s my fault.” Dream’s desperate. “If I’d said something—“

George shakes his head. “You couldn’t have. I know you.”

Dream definitely thinks he could cry now. “It would’ve been different,” He rests his forehead on George’s shoulder.

“It wouldn’t have.” George’s fingers pass through blond locks. “We’re too difficult for one another.”

“But we’re _us_ ,” Dream laments. “We could’ve done it.”

“You can’t regret it now, Dream.”

“I know.” He murmurs. Everything has halted outside of them.

“You know,” George starts, and Dream senses his smile. “I used to hold my breath. Every time you messaged me.”

Dream laughs, and he raises his head to stare at George. “It was so hard to understand you.”

“And— I went to your dumb football games. I didn’t even know what was going on, I just wanted to see you.”

“Really?” Dream wonders, and it’s truthful. “I never saw.”

“Yeah, because I hid beneath the bleachers like an idiot.”

Dream chuckles. “Weirdo.”

“It felt _wrong_ ,” George blinks. “And then _that_ night happened, and somehow it felt even worse.”

Dream’s brows furrow. “Do you regret it?”

George ponders for a moment, then shakes his head. “No. I regret what happened afterward.”

“We fell off each other.” It’s more of a realization.

George nods. “It was like— It was like I couldn’t _see_ you. You were there, but I couldn’t see you.”

“I was scared.” Dream admits.

“I know you were.” They sway to the music. “I was, too. Very.”

“Sapnap knew.” Dream mentions. “The asshole knew all along. Probably before we did.”

George’s smile is lopsided. “Yeah.” He considers it. “I knew all along, too, though.”

Dream’s eyes widen. “What?”

George chuckles, “Not about you. I knew what _I_ wanted.”

“Oh?” Dream feels a smile on his face.

George warns, “Don’t think too much about it.” 

The smile turns cocky, “Wasn’t planning on it.”

There’s silence, and Dream doesn’t want there to be. Years of unspoken words, so many things he wants to do, and yet his mind turns to a blank. 

“We could try long distance,” George suggests, and his cheeks are colored.

Dream’s helpless. “There are people in England, too, you know? You’ll find someone.” _I don’t want you to._

“Yeah,” George looks to the side. “but you’re you.”

Dream laughs, weak, “I’m also in Florida.”

“We can still try—” He begins, but Dream’s forced to stop it.

“Trying hasn’t gotten us far before, has it?”

George sighs.

“It’ll be okay, though.” Dream caresses George’s cheek. “We didn’t get far enough to miss each other.”

The brunet scoffs. “You’re kidding.”

“How can you miss something that didn’t even happen?”

“Won’t you miss it _because_ of that?” George hangs his arms around Dream’s neck.

“I’m trying to convince myself.”

George smiles, bashfully, and it’s an ending.

“We shouldn’t do that anymore.”

Before there’s anything they can ponder on, a countdown to new year starts. Hearts begin to beat, and when the voices of their friends strike zero, Dream can’t help but cup both sides of his best friend’s face and bring lips together in what is more of a goodbye than words could ever be. George senses the regret on Dream’s tongue.

—

Dream’s loading boxes that aren’t his in Sapnap’s car. It’s ironic, he realizes, because he’s been thinking about this moment. Thinking about the time when his people would leave, but it never got quite this _real_. He’s loading memories, picture frames, clothes he’s given advice on, he’s putting off Sapnap’s entire legacy away and every step taken is a step closer to the end.

He watches, nostalgic, as George and Sapnap talk on Sapnap’s driveway. He can’t hear what they’re saying, but who can really hear goodbyes? They pass through, one ear out the other, because no one ever wants to believe they’re there. So he sighs, and he shuts the hood of the car.

It’s over, but Dream has an idea.

So they go to the park. They go to the park and the swings are taped off, because someone decided they didn’t get to have this. Closure wasn’t fitting.

There’s an air of violence. An air of brutality and an air of sorrow. But there’s nothing they can do about it.

It’s the last time they’re there, together.

Time comes short, and then it reaches for Sapnap to go to his car. Dream swears he can see a glimmer in his eye, but he probably can’t tell over his own blurry vision.

“You two figure your shit out, alright?” Sapnap chuckles, but Dream can see through. “I don’t want us to be some sad example of friends that didn’t make it.”

Dream nods, and he can feel the heat behind his eyes. “I love you, man.”

And Sapnap opens his arms. Dream lets the tears fall, for once, only when he’s saying goodbye to his lifetime friend. He wraps his arms around the Texan like it’s a prophecy, and maybe it is.

“Love you too, brother.”

So maybe that’s what it took for Dream to finally break, or maybe it was the scalding sun, or maybe it was George joining in on the hug. Neither of them seemed to care about the tears.

And Sapnap holds them at an arm’s length, looking them in the eye like it’s a mad parent scolding their kid for staying out too late. “We keep in contact. Okay?” He purses his lip. “I know you’ll have some awkward phase, but we keep in contact.”

Dream nods, he looks at George. “Of course.” George smiles.

“Alright.” Sapnap sighs, and he looks down. His arms drop. “I gotta be there by tomorrow, so,” He laughs, and it’s that weird laugh people do when they’re sad. “Don’t get too British on us, okay, George?”

George rolls his eyes, “I’ll be surprised if the next time we meet you don’t have a cowboy hat on.”

_Next time._

Ultimately, “You guys suck.”, Dream huffs. 

“It’s okay, George loves me.” Sapnap smiles, exaggerated, and George shakes his head. They all laugh, for a fleeting moment.

The sun is setting.

“Bye, guys,” Dream sees the tears in his friend’s eyes, now. “I’ll miss you.”

Dream nods. George gives Sapnap a smile.

It’s an ending, and it _kills_ Dream.

So when Sapnap turns and drives off, his silhouette against the sun, there’s nothing anyone can do about it.

They say nothing, they do nothing, it’s simply there, lingering, it’s conclusion. It’s only when everything’s over and the sky is dark that Dream turns and hugs George with all his might. And George clutches the fabric on his back, because they’ve never had to do this. Dream’s tears have come back.

There are no words to be said, but are there ever?

—

The last time Dream meets George, it’s stinging.

There are no boxes in his car, there are no picture frames, there are no memories, there’s only a suitcase of clothes and there’s people who’ve fallen wary between friends and lovers. He’s driving, because George never learned, and on the highway he tilts his head to look at the Brit.

“Dream, I swear to god,” George scolds, because it’s not the first time Dream’s taken his eyes off the road.

“Okay, okay,” Dream wheezes. “We’re almost there.

George rolls his eyes. “It’s almost like I can see the GPS, too.”

Dream drums his fingers on the wheel, and he recognizes the blues playing from his speakers, from a night long ago between heavy breathing and clutching hands. They both do, but there’s a silent agreement not to mention it. Dream skips the track.

George left his parents at home, he left his parents at home and decided to go with Dream, because that was the best way to sign off. It’d come full circle, even if the circle weren’t symmetrical.

There are no belongings in his bags, because he chose to restart himself. And Dream appreciates it, because he doesn’t think he could ever move on if George didn’t, too. He’s sure the thought of him with someone else will mix Dream’s guts until the day there’s nothing to feel anymore, but he also knows that’s the irrational side of his brain talking.

He won’t be a few states over like Sapnap, he won’t be a drive’s distance and he won’t be accessible, he’ll be an ocean away and Dream won’t come to him because he knows that would worsen it. They both know this is goodbye.

So when George’s standing just beneath the line of no return, when the clouds have shielded the sun and when Dream can reach the stars no longer, that’s when their closing act _really_ starts. Dream thinks the party was solely preparation for it.

“Well, this fucking sucks.” He begins.

George smiles on his laughter lines. “You’re not the one going on a nine hour flight.”

“Precisely,” Dream counters.

But George shakes his head, and he leans on the handle of his bag. “I won’t forget about you, you know that, right?”

“You think _I_ could ever forget?”

“I think you underestimate yourself.”

Dream sighs, and he figures he could never fully understand. “What does that mean?”

“You’re special, Dream. I wouldn’t have fallen for you otherwise.”

Thunder. This, this would be thunder. Something within them struggles to stay together.

“You weren’t supposed to say that.”

“I know.” George smiles. “I just couldn’t have left if I didn’t.”

The airport’s moving beside them.

“I’ve loved you,“

They’re at standstill.

“I know, Dream. I know.”

And despite all this time, Dream’s heart still beats. There’s a million things he wants to say.

“I’d do it differently, George.” He prompts. “I would. I promise you.”

George sighs. “Don’t start, Dream.“

“No, trust me,” Dream reaches for George’s hands, he holds them gently. “I was _dumb_.”

“We both were.”

“I—“ Dream bites his inner cheek. “Fuck.”

There’s no dialogue, there’s no grand romantic gesture and there’s no reason why Dream and George could— should, ever work.

But it’s always been them, hasn’t it? It’s always been Dream and George.

So Dream decides, “Let’s try it. Let’s try long distance, George.”

“But—“

“I know what I said, and— and I don’t agree with it.”

George furrows his brows. “You’re so complicated, Dream.” It sounds genuine.

“We can make it work—,” He’s desperate. “We can!”

“And when it plummets?” George is exhausted. “And when you— And when you find someone else? And when I need you and you can’t be with me because you’re halfway across the world?”

Dream’s wit dials down. “You can’t tell me you’d waste what we have.”

George looks like he could ruin Dream, like he has the trigger on his finger and he’s falling to a breaking point. “You do realize what’ll happen when it doesn’t work, right?”

_When._

“Why don’t you trust it?”

“What reason have you given me to, Dream?” He breathes. “What makes you think long distance will work when we’ve been a street away from each other our whole lives and it _still_ hasn’t?”

“It’s different now,” He pleads.

“Why?” George relents. “Because you think it’s _convenient_?”

“It’s not because of that.” Dream doesn’t want it to be, at least.

“Dream, stop, I don’t wanna argue with you right now.”

 _He’s leaving_ , Dream circles back to the thought, but he doesn’t let himself break, _don’t fucking ruin it_.

“Don’t do this, George. You know you’ll regret it.”

“I’ll regret it even more when we break up and lose contact because we were _greedy_.”

“How can you say that, though?” Dream exasperates. “We’ve had nothing. We slept together once, George, how is this being greedy?”

George drops Dream’s hands. “Sure, argue that. Argue that when you fucking know there was so much more.”

A boulder falls atop his heart. “You know I didn’t mean it like that.”

“You really had to do this, Dream? I’m about to cross the fucking Atlantic and you suddenly think _this_ is a good idea?”

And it’s when they’re standing, raising their voices at each other midst a momentary airport that Dream realizes there’s no fixing the rotten.

“We’ll talk about this when you’re there, okay?” He softens his tone. “If we’re not on good terms when you leave, it’ll just be another thing to regret.”

George sighs, and then there’s a nod. “Okay.”

The intercom calls for George, calls for their ending, and then there’s nothing more. No more excuses to put up, no parties to host and no football games to attend to. There’s two best friends in the middle of an airport, and they’re both wishing there were more.

“Come here,” Dream prompts, and so George does. Time’s fleeting.

Dream breathes in George’s hair, and he realizes it’s no longer chamomile. It’s no longer a renewal. No longer an apology.

“I love you, Dream.” He barely hears.

It’s a goodbye.

Dream pushes George away, and in urgency he cradles his lover’s cheeks. He touches his forehead to George’s, and it’s almost normal, but they couldn’t reach that.

He can close his eyes, pretend the airport’s a fallacy and the time limit’s optional. He can pretend.

Dream doesn’t realize they’re both crying until lips graze and he can _feel_ it.

George’s arms wrap around his neck. There’s nothing telling them no.

And alas, for the crack of dawn, there’s no one to open the door to anymore. Dream doesn’t have a plan, he realizes, because his life had been hyper focused on the one thing he couldn’t achieve.

On the pavement before his house, he sees it. He sees _time_ , he sees momentary thrill that lay carved onto reality. He crouches down and traces his fingers over the dried cement. He puts his palm over his past self’s, and he realizes how much has changed. He sees George’s, too, but the brunet isn’t there, anymore, to compare.

Later, he lays down on his bed, and it’s cold. He lays in the middle, because there’s nothing holding him to the right anymore, and so, he falls asleep. He falls asleep, and somewhere in the confines of Florida the group of best friends that would never drift has drifted.

He dreams of George.

—

**Author's Note:**

> (GUNSHOT) okay bye


End file.
